I swear it had been by impulse. I know that I had acted without thinking when I had camped inside her dressing room, then flung myself at her so viciously. I know it was monstrous of me, the way I had dragged her slumbering form through the deepest depths of the labyrinth below the Palais to a secret place - my nest - where no one could find us; where no one would be able to rescue her, my perfect Carmine, from the fruition of my darkest whims.
If only I could bring myself to carry through with them.
Let it be made clear that no thorn of mine so much as grazed her, and that my lust lay unfulfilled although she lay helplessly before me, rosy lips spread ajar seductively, and the slight mound of her breast growing and contracting without irregularity.
The most I could muster was a stroke against her soft cheek. The naked skin felt horribly distant, seperated from me by my own deeply scorched and scarred layer, that had been oblivious to the sensation of touch for far longer than I could remember, even if I cared to.
After all I had been enlightened by the truth long ago; I knew that the concept of time became nonexistent since the day that my whole world, and I, went up in flames.
The unalienable effect that this Carmine's every inhalation had on me was a stark testament to that.
I could hardly stand to look upon her.